love poems: gold dust

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my body is Africamen want to discover their rootsthrough my watersso they tell me,'girl, i'll make you weep for me.''girl, i'll make you wet for me.'they want to colonize my bodybut my flesh is my ownmy soul belongs to memy mouth is full of diamondsuse your hands to dig into my earthyour hands were meant to dig into my earthyou will fight to say you belong to mewear me on fingers and necks and teethcannot lick lips without tasting mei make these niggas remember they're kings(i make these boys remember they're kings)i burn incense at night when i praydance myself cleanbreasts and thighs tremble like thunderthat calls out to me in lucid dreamsmy hair grows wild and freelike the heart of memy people have seen some crazy shitLiberia's refugeesso pardon me and my iniquitiesit seems i have inherited the family geneof women who carry wounds that are heavier than weso i call myself strong and not breakingbut my God am i breakingi am crumblingthis is how gold dust is mademy life has been a graveyardmy family tree a weeping willowblack menfathers and brothers and lovers of mesit beneath these leavestake cover from my lightshade themselves from my needsmy hips bend and curve like river streamthey all want to drink from memy cup runneth over, they are quenchedi bring lifei have given them lifethey are birthed of me

Love Poems: For the Women We Don't March For

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[embed]https://soundcloud.com/blackloveprjct/love-poems-for-the-women-we-dont-march-for[/embed]sisteri call your name three timesto let the ancestors know they should make room for youyou are coming homeyou have become another picturethat will be added to our altars of griefwe will pray to you and ask what this life is forblack woman, you gave birth to this worldand is it not the African way to carry our children on our backs?how do you not break with so much weight?how much more of your blood will they ask for?how much of your pain will they ignore?your body has been both mother and muleblack men hold their stiffness from across the streetand call you bitch.they have not yet forgiven themselves for being angry with their motherswho could not make their fathers stayyou will love them anyway. you will fight for them anyway.white men salivate at the way your body curvesthey will call you exotic and ask where you are fromthey want to know if black pussy is as sweet as brown sugarthe rolling stones told them sothey will not invite you home to meet their parentsthey cannot bear that shamewhite women will ask to touch your hairpet youthey will call themselves feministsfighting for the right to show their bodiesthen will hire your mother to scrub their floors and raise their childrenoh my sisterthis life is not an easy onethis thing you created is not an easy oneblessed melaninno one weeps for you, they shed no tearsthe earth returns unto itself a thousand times in one dayat night when you weep in heavy solitudeand in the morning when your flowers open themselves to another day

Cookie

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LeathiaCookie Name: Leathia aka CookieHometown: Westhampton, New JerseyAge: 25Age You First Fell in Love: 22Love Is: (squeals and laughs) Um love is. . .Monique: (laughs) I always catch people off guard. They always say, "I need like a day to think about this."Cookie: It's hard to condense it; love is a lot of things. I think it's an awesome, amazing feeling, just being with that person and having that connection. But then it's also compromise and communication and just a whole bunch of shit! (laughs)

Camille

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camilleName: CamilleHometown: Peachtree City, GeorgiaAge: 26Age You First Fell in Love: 15Love Is: Now I would say it's deep, it's something from your soul. Two souls being able to be raw and vulnerable with one another. It's a really deep commitment to feel like you can trust that person and there may even be things you don't like about them but they're insignificant because you're in love.Monique: Have you been in love after fifteen?Camille: Not with another person; it's a spiritual love now.Monique: Now as far as being in love at fifteen and how you've grown into a spiritual love, what does fifteen year old look like now in comparison to twenty-six year old love?Camille: So futile, very fleeting, a very surface level kind of love, very focused on the physicality and what that guy could do for me; as opposed to me loving him and sharing our love. If that makes sense.Monique: What about your spiritual love, what does that mean to you?Camille: I feel like that is the foundation for all other love. The spiritual love piece is something that intermixes with the physical love that I would have with a man.

Love Poems: When They Come With Machetes in Their Mouths

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I am not superwoman. My mother is not superwoman. My mother’s mother is not superwoman.I am, we are, soft. Can shatter. Crumble in your hands.Our survival does not mean we prosper. We are like other women but unlike them.So do not tell us we can handle anything.We only seem like superwoman, a figment of your imagination,because you have forced our lives to be perpetual labor with only seconds of relief.If we carry the world on our shoulders and the children on our backs,what are we but your glorified mules slapped withguilt praises of perseverance and strength.Our bones and our blood and our sweat have built the wealth of nations.Our burial should not be the first time we rest.- Yasmin Mohamed Yonis (Mogadishu, Somalia)